Letters
by marinoa
Summary: England decides to write to France.
1. May, 15th

**Letters**

May, 15th

To France

I have no idea why, but I decided to write to you. I have nothing to tell you, though.

I guess I...

Forget it. This is useless.

I'm sending this letter anyway. Just to show you that I really have nothing to say to you. That we have nothing in common.

And don't bother replying this letter, France. It would be meaningless, anyway.

Best regards,

England

P.S. It's raining here. Hopefully there, too.

X


	2. May, 22nd

**Letters**

May, 22nd

To France

I should have known better. Of course you do the exact opposite of what I ask you. Always, France.

I should have never written you in the first place, and I can't believe that I'm actually answering your letter.

Stop being a fool, France. I know perfectly well we are both nations. What I meant is not that and you know it. But I thought about it and I do admit that there is one thing we share, and that is hate. That's all there is to it.

I heard a song today, about superheroes. It said that superheroes never cry for pain or love. Is that true? Can they cry at all, then? It wasn't explained in the lyrics. It also wasn't told who exactly are those superheroes. So, I did some thinking and came to the following conclusion: superheroes don't exist. I doubt that there are people who have never cried.

But why couldn't a hero cry? Tears are not necessarily sign of weakness, right? I think... It's somehow the same thing as the saying 'the one who has never fallen should not be proud of himself, but the one who has always stood up after each time he fell'. A hero with no weaknesses, what is the reason for him to be proud? He has done nothing, won nothing. There is nothing he would be respected for. Besides, what kind of hero would that be, with no feelings?

Why am I even bothering to write you about this? Apparently I have way too much time... Which is not exactly true according to that pile of paper on my desk. Well then, I'll stop wasting my time on you now.

Best regards,

England

X


	3. May, 30th

**Letters**

May, 30th

To France

I'm not being melancholic, you could say I'm a thinker, instead. There is a difference. ...Yes, France, some of us are actually able to think.

And we are not superheroes, France. This kind of 'immortality' we have is not enough to make a superhero. We are nations; nothing more, nothing less. And we are not even immortal. Look at Prussia; he doesn't exist anymore the same way as we do. As well as Rome, for example.

Besides, each and one of us has cried, from Italy to Russia. You and I are not exceptions.

I haven't heard the song you wrote about. Who is the artist? I might even be interested in listening to it if I happen to get bored.

And didn't I already tell you to stop being a fool? Of course there is hate between us, don't even try to deny that. There always was and there always will be. We are arch-enemies, France, forever. I can't believe you are suggesting something else! We have been fighting since the day we met, what else would that be if not hate?

England

X


	4. June, 6th

**Letters**

June, 6th

Not love. It is not love, France. Seriously, stop seeing 'love' wherever you look!

Take a look at our history! I already told you in my previous letter. Have you forgotten of that blood and tears? Ones who love each other don't fight for hundred years in a row.

It is not love we share, and you know it as well as I do. Now could we drop this meaningless subject?

Hm, that was an interesting statement. I have to admit that for once you might have a point there. I even actually like the thought. But does it mean then that if no one remembered me, even though I was alive, I would not exist?

Again, I should have known. I should have remembered how much you enjoy writing lyrics and recognized your cheesy style. Well, have you recorded your song? Don't get me wrong; I don't care to hear it. I'm just curious. I have heard your croaking that you call music more than enough already.

England

X


	5. June, 13th

**Letters**

June, 13th

Oh God, why am I even bothering to do this?

Wake up in reality, France! You are living in some kind of utopia of love. Yes, I agree, there is love in this world. But it's not for us. _Humans_ love, France. Humans can fall in love with each other, most of them more than just once in their lifetime. Love is in their nature.

But for us... For nations it's not like that. A nation can not love, France, and it can not be loved by other nation. A nation can be only loved by its own people, and that love is distant, far from how people love each other. And a nation can love its people in the same way as they love it.

We are nations, France, thus unable to truly love and be loved. I am sorry to say this, but it is reality, and reality is cruel.

England

X


	6. June, 19th

**Letters**

June, 19th

I should never have sent you that letter.

No. I am _not_ coming to France. And you'd better not be planning to come here. I'm serious, France.

Emptiness can't fill emptiness.

England

X

So, two to go. ^^


	7. July, 25th

**Letters**

July, 25th

To France

I should have known that you do the exact opposite of what I ask. Always, France.

I want you to know that I am _not_ happy at all with your... actions. You French frog bastard. Is it even possible for a person to be as stubborn as you are?

England

X


	8. August, 3rd

**Letters**

August, 3rd

I'm not happy about it, you smug French bastard! Are you really narcissistic enough to think that everybody would be happy with just having you around? I had already told you that I didn't want you here, and there were absolutely no reasons for you to think otherwise. I am _terribly_ _sorry_ but I didn't enjoy your company. And if you think that dragging me to cinema and theatre and fine restaurants and all kind of concerts, not mentioning less expensive activities, would make me change my mind, well, then you are wrong. Next time, enjoy your 'quality time' by yourself, stupid frog.

This is the last letter I'm sending you. It was a huge mistake to send even the first one. But luckily, unlike somepeople, _I_ _learn_ from my mistakes.

Best regards,

England

X

AN: Whoops, I tricked you. ^_^ _Now_ there is one more left.


	9. August, 5th

**Letters**

August, 5th

To Francis

I need to tell you that I lied to you in the first letter I wrote to you. In reality I have too many things I want you to know. I just can't put myself to say them. Now I'm writing this to get all these confusing thoughts in some kind of order.

I told you that hate is all the two of us share together. That was not completely true, either. There _is_ hate between us, but there is something else, too, something much stronger than the hate. You said what it is: love.

I know I have been trying to convince you otherwise, that I've been telling how a nation can't love. But I didn't mean it. I just had to find a way to protect myself. Because no one can hurt me like you can, and no one wants to get hurt, am I right?

Then again, no one can love me like I know you could.

I fell for you already a long time ago. Was it when I saw you standing in the pouring rain, soaked and laughing from the bottom of your heart? Or perhaps I realized it when you once playfully knelt in front of me, offering a crimson rose. I'm not sure. But the thing is that I can never have you. I can never truly have you, no matter how many times you would kiss me or whisper sweet words in my ear. I can't take it. It just hurts too much to know that your smile will never be meant just for me and me only. To know that there is nothing inside you that you cherish for no one else but me. And despite that fact, I have found myself helplessly trapped in you. I can't believe I'm really going to say a cliché like this, but you have my heart in your hands, and it is left to your mercy.

I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm in love with you, Francis.

A moment ago I said that I can never have you. But what if, by some chance, what _if_... I keep hoping, but I don't have enough courage to ask you. The higher you reach, the more it will hurt when you fall.

I'm not quite sure if I managed to make my point, but it doesn't matter, anyway.

I'm not going to send this letter. I will close it in the envelop that has your name and address on it, and I'll put it into my desk, among those letters you have sent me. And I will be hoping that one day you'll find and read it (it would not be the first time with you exploring my personal belongings; I'm counting on you, Francis), so that you would get to know what I want to tell you more than anything, but what I'm not able to express you by any other way.

Always yours,

Arthur

X

_Author's note:_ I have written a sequel to this story: All We Need is a little Love. :)


End file.
